


Daylight Is Mine To Command

by orphan_account



Category: Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: AU, Concept, Drabble, Jim is not the trollhunter, concept paragraph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Strickler gets the amulet from Jim on day one, before Jim can meet trolls.This is going to be a ‘Strickler is the Trollhunter fic’. Walter’s POV, third person.
Kudos: 8





	Daylight Is Mine To Command

**Author's Note:**

> I’m taking liberties with plot and personalities of some of the characters as this is a HEAVY change of canon. 
> 
> Unbeta’d. Message me if you’re interested in being a beta reader and for suggestions.

Trollhunters but Strickler becomes the trollhunter instead concept paragraph mk 1

——-

——-

——-

  
  
  


The day started normal enough.

They always do.

The sun rises, and a new day begins in Arcadia. Each morning seems to last longer than the one before, and each night he spends in bed seems to become shorter and shorter. 

The mundane tasks of brushing his teeth, doing his laundry, grading homework—while pleasant at times, were pale in comparison to what he and the other changelings were planning. Freeing Gunmar was no small feat. 

Especially now that the Trollhunter could be anywhere. 

Until he is found and the amulet under changeling’s control, there’s no reason to give himself away. The very normal routine of schoolwork and lecturing will have to continue, for now. 

—

As the period draws to a close, amidst the mumbling and quiet rustling of students packing their bags, one of the children seem to be out of it. 

Ah, Jim.

An incredibly bright boy, with good problem-solving skills and a tendency to fall asleep in class. His head is propped up with a hand, elbow resting precariously on the edge of the desk as he and his friend mumble about something. 

Strickler hovers by Jim’s desk, idly toying with his fountain pen. “Jim, would you agree? With Herodotus’ opinion on his tactics of war, as I’ve described.” The cap of the pen clicks, and he offers Jim a pleasant smile.

Jim’s voice cracks somewhat as he tries to play it off. “Oh, uh, absolutely!” Too easy. “Excellent. Which tactics, specifically?” Clearly, the boy wasn’t paying attention as he was engrossed in whatever he and his friend were discussing. “The...winning ones?” 

The bell rings before the two could continue their exchange, and the room is filled further with frantic packing and loose papers being carelessly stuffed into bags. 

After verbally assigning homework, Strickler pulls the young boy aside, who manages to spill books and folders all across the floor in the midst of trying to rush. It was difficult, to be leading a double life of trying to care for someone on top of trying to care for yourself. Even the changeling could empathize with that. It was difficult to say how he felt, though.

It was conflicting. He did care for the boy, as well as his mother. There’s a quiet tear of a sticky note with the teacher’s number scrawled across it, which gets handed to Jim. 

“The weight of the world is not yours alone to bear, Atlas.” 

It was honest.

Amidst helping the boy with his books and papers, something metal and clearly out-of-place catches his eye. Curiosity takes over, and with a swift move of his hand, the object is taken and hidden from Jim. 

The two exchange farewells and some advice for Jim about love and balance, he leaves. The short conversation felt bittersweet. Relationships and sleep schedules… To think that the boy will likely never live long enough to 

He suddenly jerks his hand back, looking in horror as the disc clatters against the linoleum. There was a ghost of the circular impression in his hand, and it felt cold—almost too cold to stand. Strickler closes the door, feeling as if his knees will give out from beneath him. 

The amulet. 

_The_ amulet. 

Its gears were static, but the ghastly blue of the face was enough to confirm any shortcomings he had about identifying it. 

What was it doing here? How did Jim get it?

Perhaps this was a sign. 

A dark, foreboding sign that plans are going to change very, very quickly. 

It’s back in his hand, which is shaking almost violently as he flips the amulet over to look upon it. Glossy, immaculately crafted with magic and skill. 

A fine creation. 

It’s ticking. 

The gears of the amulet come to life, the hands turning rapidly and shifting across the face of it. The writing on the rim flicks to delicately-carved English. 

Heart thrumming in his chest, Merlin’s amulet feels like it’s going to burn right through Stricklander’s hand.

  
  


_FOR THE GLORY OF MERLIN DAYLIGHT IS MINE TO COMMAND_


End file.
